There are a hundred ways
To say I wish I could go back,
Or I soaked up growing up like a worried sponge
Or I can still smell the dirt on my jeans
Or I don’t even like baseball, but I love the sound of the metal bat against the ball
Or watermelon slices on summer days taste like presents
Or there was iced tea brewing in the kitchen
Or I thought the lions looked happy in their cages
Or the cherry water ice painted my skin red
Or I had an imaginary friend who taught me loneliness
Or we had water gun fights in the front yard
Or we’d ride our bikes til dusk
Or I thought the older boys in the cul-de-sac were cute
Or I thought the older girls double-dutching were cool
Or the hot plastic of a slide against the back of my legs
Or the timid eyeing of the next rock along the creek to jump to
Or the boom of a grandfather clock chiming
Or I could spend eternity swinging by a rope my poppop tied to a tree
Or my grandmother is a magician
Or I used to believe in magic
Or I still do